


Good Cop, Bad Psychic

by FormallyKnownAsFreya



Category: Psych
Genre: Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FormallyKnownAsFreya/pseuds/FormallyKnownAsFreya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlton Lassiter goes to dinner with coworkers, Shawn and Juliet after work. After some embarrassing moments he confronts Shawn for his insensitive jokes with the hope the psychic with desist. </p><p>It only makes things worse...or better, depending on how you look at it. </p><p> </p><p>A one-shot until further notice. Future chapters may happen after completion of other fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Cop, Bad Psychic

 

 

Dinner at Mario’s

**Shawn Spencer. Psychic my ass.**

The first day he came in for questioning Carlton Lassiter knew he was going to become a problem in the detective’s life. His claiming powers of supernatural means and flailing about a room ‘possessed’ by the spirit of the victim were just the start of annoying days at the police station. Some days Carlton wanted to just fall under his desk and die with frustration.

 **Mccallum murders were the first weren’t they?** Lassiter sighed thinking about the day everything changed at the department. He not only proved that it wasn’t a kidnapping and later that it wasn’t a murder suicide but he did it all with no real police work. That burned Lassiter up. How could this witless wonder solve crimes that the detective could not?

Even now he could see the ‘psychic’ in the chief’s office claiming to have information probative to the case Lassiter was desperately trying to solve without the fraud’s help. His useless visions and cocky smile. Tugging his best friend and associate Gus behind him like a toy train. He was probably more than just an associate if he were to guess.

“Carlton,” Juliet’s voice woke him from his thoughts. “Have you read all the witness statements? I went through them all and no one seems to have seen the suspect anywhere near the victim…”

“Just means someone hasn’t come forward yet,” he told her. “We’ll just have to re-canvas the area and re-question everyone in that area.”

Juliet O’hara sighed disappointedly. The Santa Barbara heat was getting worse with each day; the thought of re-questioning all those people was daunting. She looked up at the chief’s office and saw Shawn Spencer doing his psychic ‘vision’ dance. Looked something like a chicken strutting back and forth.

“Maybe we can ask Shawn for a lead?” she asked but then bit on her lips to close them.

“We don’t need his help,” Lassiter gave a gruff reply.

How many times had Spencer made him into an idiot? A joke? He remembered telling the psychic he’d never work in the department again after that first case. He rubbed his face in annoyance. How many times would he be wrong?

“Why do you hate him so much? He’s helped the department loads of times,” she informed him of things he already knew. Spencer was now doing another song and dance that was reminiscent of the waltz on crack.

“It’s not what he does, it’s how he does it,” Carlton was blunt. “His methods and his attitude are the problem. A soul sucking embarrassment to all law enforcement.”

That wasn’t to say Spencer hadn’t been helpful. He solved the spelling bee murder when Lassiter only suspected it to be a heart attack. And even though he weaseled himself into the Maxwell heirloom ring heist which turned to murder, he solved it as well. That was when he incurred all those room fees and couldn’t prove that Spencer did it. **That ass. I wanted to punch him before that though when he tried to encroach on my case.**

Everyone mistook his animosity for being a violent person. While the violence was surely there, he had never resorted to it with his partners. The one that got transferred. The many, many dates he’d had. It was then he thought his partner Juliet pegged him for liking demanding and in-charge types of partners. But at least she didn’t suspect him of more.

Lassiter was a very private person so it was unlikely anyone knew of his…preferences. Though it should be fairly obvious to those who looked close enough. The way he enjoyed taking and following orders. The one night stands that never became more. The way Lassiter became annoyed at Spencer like a child on a playground who gets picked on by the boy who likes him.

It was the real reason Lassiter hated Spencer. If he was just hyper observant then he probably knew. If he was psychic then he definitely knew. And if he knew then all the times he made those vaguely sexual jokes at Lassiter, he was doing them on purpose to get a rise out of him. 

Carlton had to wonder how long he’d  known. Before he grabbed the detective’s leg during the suicide murderer case? Or, same case, but when he ‘channeled ‘the cat who was ‘channeling’ the actress and danced onto Carlton’s lap? He originally went in there to watch Spencer make a fool of himself but of course he landed hard on his lap. It took every fiber of his being not to be turned on by it and masking his excitement with displeased anger.

Keeping people far away and putting up a domineering attitude fooled enough people. Everyone viewed him as unapproachable, which is what he wanted. But Spencer; he saw through. At least, Lassiter thought he did. Why else would he get in his face and challenge him all the time? He was either blind to all the signs or he saw through them.

 “His methods are…unconventional,” Juliet admitted. “And he is a bit…strange.”

Unconventional. Strange. Words he would use to describe himself sometimes.

“He makes a lot of mistakes but in the end he is usually right,” Juliet sighed.

“The ends don’t justify the means,” Carlton reminded her. “And his means are certainly suspect.”

Watching from his desk the detective saw the would-be psychic receive a check for his services. How much did he get paid for solving cases? What did he spend it all on? Snacks and water skiing or churros and monster truck rallies. He was probably going to spend it on his many dates.

 **He goes on an awful lot of dates that never end anywhere either. So he's not be the hotshot he thinks he is.** Or he was putting on airs like Lassiter was. It never really occurred to him that Shawn Spencer, fraud psychic, might also be hiding more than just his crime solving methods. It could be the reason he was always hitting on women and always single. Trying to fool everyone.

“Hey Jules! Hey Lassie!” Shawn swaggered over to the desk where the two of them were rifling through witness statements. “Still going through these statements?”

“Why? Do you have a susp-”

“If we were, we wouldn’t need your help, Spencer,” Lassiter cut her off.

“Are you sure about that Lassie? Because I’m sensing,” Shawn placed his hand to his head. “I’m sensing, you’re frustrated because one of your witnesses is holding out on you. Fear not, Lassie. For the person who was afraid to come clean will be walking through that interrogation room in 3…2…”

Shawn pointed and an older woman came out of it. She shook McNab’s hand and he walked her out to her taxi. Lassie was caught between being annoyed, angry, and relieved. He didn’t want to read through all those reports again and if Spencer was right then the status report McNab was bringing back was the one that proved his suspect was at the victim’s house the night of the robbery.

“Detective Lassiter,” McNab started. “Oh hi, Shawn! What are you up to? New case?”

Lassiter reached out for the paper and snatched it out of his hand. He read it silently as McNab chatted up Shawn. Juliet read over his shoulder, an annoying habit but he ignored it for the time being.

“No, I was just getting paid the big bucks for solving another one of Lassie’s cases,” he laughed. “Luckily, another case was solved a few minutes ago …Arlene Washington…was it? She decided to change her affidavit on the night of the robbery? Perhaps spotting the perp peeking in some windows?”

“Wow, that psychic stuff really is intense,” McNab was amazed.

Shawn Spencer was right. The woman changed her testimony. She was afraid before that the suspect would rob or hurt her next for telling the truth. But a vacuum salesman and his assistant Gee Buttersnaps convinced her she’d be safer if she turned him in and he went behind bars. What kind of name was Gee Buttersnaps?

“Looks like detective Lassiter and detective O’hara have cleared their schedules for later,” Shawn spoke. “Jules would you like to go to dinner? Mario’s? You like their bread don’t you? Gus’s treat. You’re welcome to come too Lassie. We’ll even get you some crayons and paper and you can scare the hostess with illustrations of crime scenes.”

“Ha ha,” Lassiter rolled his eyes.

“Why not Lassiter?” Juliet pleaded and then whispered. “It’s his treat and Mario’s is delicious. Please don’t make me go alone.”

Juliet was his partner and she was asking a favor. And she made sense. Food without having to pay? On a cop’s salary having a free meal never hurt. But having to deal with Spencer making bedroom eyes at his partner all night might not be worth it. He didn’t really have much to look forward to if he simply went home. Alone. Eating a TV dinner and watching the local news or history channel for another civil war documentary.

“Fine,” Lassiter relented. “But I will not sit next to that pathetic psychic.”

 

Lassiter arrived at Mario’s at exactly 7 o’clock. And he wasn’t alone long because O’hara was right behind him only 2 minutes later. She suggested they grab a table before the other’s arrived. It was a good idea; Carlton could ensure a seat nowhere near Spencer.

“How many tonight?” the hostess asked.

“Uh, four, I believe,” Juliet responded. Juliet, Carlton, Gus, and Shawn.

“That won’t be necessary, we have a reservation,” came the voice of Shawn Spencer. “It’s under Chesterfield McMillan.”

“Hmmm…oh here it is. Table for three, follow me please.”

“Three?” Juliet asked.

“I said it was Gus’s treat, I didn’t say he’d be here for it,” Shawn admitted.

“Chesterfield McMillan?” asked Lassiter. “That’s not your real name.”

“How do you know?” Shawn questioned in a childish tone. “Miss, can we get a kids menu and some crayons?”

Lassiter was done arguing with him. He let out an annoyed sigh and simply took in a deep, deep breath. This night was going to be a disaster. No matter where he sat he’d be next to the insufferable Shawn Spencer. He could only hope they got a booth and not a table, but as they rounded the bend it was looking less likely.

The table was set for three and divided evenly between the three guests that would be sitting there. Lassiter resigned to defeat and took a seat. Shawn pulled the chair out for Juliet and she sat demurely in it with thanks. Then Shawn took his seat next to her just as the waitress came to take their order for drinks and appetizers.

“A coke,” Shawn spoke.

“Tea, please,” Juliet requested.

“Scotch, thank you,” he sighed. “On the rocks.”

She left to get their drinks and Shawn began the small talk with Juliet. Lassiter simply waited for his drink, all the more to make the evening easier to deal with. In the back of his mind drinking was a terrible idea. Wasn’t there a time when drinking got him into trouble with Spencer before? Juliet was there though so she would keep things from getting out of hand.

“The last time I saw Lassie drinking, he hit his head on a table and passed out on the floor of a bar,” Shawn mentioned. So he did remember. Great.  “Right before the astronomer murder case.”

“Really?” Juliet blinked. “I thought you said you were accosted by a suspect?”

“I was,” Lassiter assured her. “He’s full of crap.”

“Didn’t you also give me your hand cuffs?” Shawn laughed. So that’s where those went.

“You gave him your personal cuffs?” O’hara chuckled. “Why not give them back now?”

“I’m saving them for later,” Shawn looked at her like a child who’d been given a toy. “Plus, they were a gift. No take backsies.”

“I never gave him my cuffs,” Carlton denied.

Carlton wondered why Spencer would bring that up. How did he remember that? His ‘power’ had to be some kind of perfect memory. What did they call that? Photogramic? Eidetic? Idiotic? The scotch was doing its job. He couldn’t remember.

They ordered food when the waitress came back, to which Lassiter ordered another scotch. Shawn with spaghetti and meatballs, Juliet with a shrimp carbonara, and Lassie with a big square of Lasagna.  Once the food arrived there was little talking.

“I thought you’d order the Chicken Parmesan, with extra chicken,” Shawn joked.

“Is that a throwback joke from when we first met?” Lassiter asked.

“You do remember, Lassie! Awwww!” Shawn cooed. Lassiter could never tell when he was being serious or a complete moron. “And I thought you didn’t care.”

“Shawn, why didn’t you invite Gus?” Juliet wondered as she chewed a shrimp.

“Cause then I’d have to share and sharing was my biggest problem in kindergarten. And to this day I still won’t share the sand box or my legos,” Shawn joked. “Breadstick?”

Juliet chomped down on the offered breadstick with glee. They really were good and Lassiter used one to clear the lasagna sauce from his plate. Fantastic. The waitress arrived again asking if Lassiter wanted another scotch. He accepted heartily.

“Carlton, think you might want to slow down?” Juliet asked. “You’ll have to take a taxi.”

“Since Spencer is paying for dinner, I can afford one,” he reminded her.

There was more pointless banter from Spencer as he talked with Juliet. Carlton was starting to lose focus until a strange feeling suddenly jolted him; a foot touching his leg. In a moment of sobriety he cared enough to wonder which one was touching his leg. Both of the table’s other occupants were busy staring at one another while talking animatedly about crap Lassiter couldn’t give one shit about. Who? It had to be Spencer, fucking with him again. Or perhaps O’hara was trying to rub Spencer’s (or vice versa) and was mistaken on the choice of leg. Either way it was less than appreciated.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Juliet stood from her chair. “Ladies room. Back in a flash.”

O’hara disappeared around a corner but the leg was still present, rubbing gently on Lassiter’s slacks. That answered his question. Shawn Spencer had a poker face like no one Carlton had ever seen even under the incredulous glare of the detective. It was as if nothing was happening and Spencer chomped away at breadsticks. The leg was still touching him, slowly working his way under the pant leg to his socks.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lassiter finally said when Spencer failed to notice his glowering eyes.

“What’s that Lassie?” Shawn asked as he ate another breadstick; there were now three in his mouth. He removed them all before speaking again. “Did you want one of these? Cause I can put them back, I swear I don’t have anything transmittable.”

Was he ever serious or was everything just a big joke to him? Did he not consider that his actions might actually cause others distress, annoyance, or harm? His insensitivity to this kind of…harassment was beyond annoying. It borderlined on deplorable. Spencer had to see the change of color on Carlton’s face; how could he not? It was turning red with anger.

“I’m back,” Juliet returned and took her seat. “Oh my gosh, Carlton. What’s wrong with your face?”

“Yeah, Lassie, what’s up with that?” Shawn stared in confusion. Fake confusion for a fake psychic.

Carlton kicked Shawn under the table and stood. Shawn had a look of surprised pain on his face for a second, like stubbing a toe, but Juliet failed to notice. At this point Carlton wasn’t sure which he was more: angry at Spencer or embarrassed by his reaction to him.

“I’m going home,” he said. “I have work to do.”

“I’ll call you a cab,” Juliet offered.

“No,” Lassiter told her. “I can call a friend to pick me up.”

“Well, okay, Lassie. If you’re sure. Waitress, can we get his breadsticks in a doggie bag?” he joked and Juliet giggled. “Oh, Lassie! Do you want to keep the crayons or can I? Can I please?”

Lassiter ignored him and left the table, friends, and drink behind. How infuriating Spencer was. Playing dumb and making jokes about things that were serious to him. His long strides had him to his car in moments. He unlocked it and laid in the back seat to relax. To think.

He didn’t have anyone to call; in all honesty his only associates were coworkers. He would only declare that Juliet was a friend and that was because they were partners. Spencer certainly wasn’t on that list. Lassiter had to be pushed not to put Spencer on the Enemy list. What was he? An opponent? An adversary? **A rival.**   He let out an exhausted breath. 

Being drunk made him irrational, Lassiter knew this. Everything was overreacted to tenfold under the influence of alcohol. But was he overreacting? Under normal circumstances it was easy to ignore the psychic’s juvenile actions and childish humor. A little booze made it insufferable? That didn’t make sense. Maybe it was the blatant indifference to the detective’s feelings that did it.

“If you are going to start something like that, then don’t deny doing it,” Lassiter growled.

He frowned up at the ceiling of the back seat. **I should call a cab** , he thought. **I can’t drive like this. It’s against the law…and dangerous to my health and others**. There was a tap on the window, to which the sound caused Carlton to sit up too quickly and hit his head on the roof. He let out an exclamation of the damning variety before opening the door. Spencer.

“What do you want, Spencer?” he asked rubbing the knot on his head. “Haven’t you been enough of a thorn in my side tonight?”

“Lassie, thought you were going to make a call? To a friend?” Shawn reminded him.

“I did. I’m just waiting for them to show up,” Lassiter tried to close the door before the man could deliver a terrible one-liner but Shawn held it open.

“Uh oh Lassie! The spirits say…you’re a liar liar, expensive and smooth slacks on fire,” Shawn held the other hand to his head. “You haven’t called anyone and now you’re making pouty lips at your vehicle’s upper interior, when you could be making them at a sweet sweet lover in the nighttime.”

 **Jokes like that!** Whether he knew about Lassiter or not wasn’t the issue anymore. All he ever did was poke fun at him. Lies about ghosts and the spirit world and all the other bullshit he spouts. And then made jokes at the detective’s expense, either on purpose or unintentionally. Either way didn’t change the pain it caused.

“What the hell do you want from me Spencer?” Lassiter stood and towered over the short psychic, his voice escalating as he continued to rant. “You want to humiliate me? Piss me off? Embarrass me until I give up and cry in a corner somewhere? Or did you just want to prove that you could break me? Make me finally snap and lose it?  Well, you win asshole. You succeeded. Are you happy now?”

Spencer seemed struck. He looked a little embarrassed, if not at himself, then certainly the situation. He scratched the back of his head for a second while Lassiter took deep breaths, flaring his nostrils in residual rage.

“You ask us to dinner. Embarrass me by bringing up my past. Pulled that stunt with my leg. And then act like you did nothing!” Carlton yelled. “You can’t…mess with people’s…heads like that.”

Lassiter knew he said 'people’s heads' but what he meant was hearts; their feelings. That was what bothered him the most. Spencer took potshots at people’s feelings, his feelings, without any regard to the damage he was doing. And Carlton was sick of it.

“I’m sick of being the butt of your damn jokes,” Carlton pointed. “Comrades, real friends, don’t do that.”

“Sorry, Lassie,” Shawn said, his face in a rare tone of serious. “I didn’t know that my jokes were hitting too close to home.”

“Sure, right,” Carlton dismissed him with a flick of his wrist.

“But the spirits are saying something else…” Shawn stared at the sky and then Lassiter. “The spirits say that the real reason this bothers you is because you are afraid to admit something. That in fact you like the attention but are ashamed that you like it.”

“How would you know?” Carlton growled.

“Oh I know a great many things, like how make the perfect cinnamon buns or how to steal Gus’s tapioca pudding and blame it on the neighbor’s squirrels,” Shawn elaborated, the jokester coming back out. Lassiter was preparing to lock himself in the car to avoid having to listen. “But the main reason I know is the way your cheeks flush. There is a great distinction in your aura when they flush with embarrassment versus anger versus excitement.”

Shawn Spencer closed the distance so that his face was within inches of Carlton’s, leaning part of his body against the vehicle and forcing the detective to seat himself. Now they were eye to eye. He was about to object, to push the psychic away.

“Like right now,” he said. “Your aura is emanating one of embarrassment…”

“Get off of me Spencer. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carlton hissed looking around the parking lot, hoping no one would see him in such a compromised position.

Shawn did not listen and pushed forward more, resulting in Lassiter leaning further back to avoid him. He put out a hand to grab Spencer’s shirt to hold him at bay. Lassiter was a fully trained officer of the law; he could break Spencer’s jaw in three different ways if he wanted. This would give him the excuse he’d always wanted to beat the shit out of the psychic. His face was so close, it would be easy. His perfect face and perfect hair.

“Uh oh, Incoming psychic phenomenon,” Shawn Spencer imitated a plane pilot. “The aura of the Carlton Lassiter is now changing, ever so slightly, to that of an amorous hue.”

“What are you talking about?” Lassiter squinted in annoyance, preparing to shove Shawn off of him.

“Must make decisive action to determine the cause and remedy the situation,” Shawn continued his imitation.

“Spencer-”

Lassiter’s mouth was muffled by another. Shawn Spencer was putting his mouth on him. Lassiter’s grip on the shirt tightened, all the while acknowledging the warm hand on the thigh of his right leg. The hand belonging to psychic detective Shawn Spencer. Was his hand starting to grip his thigh tighter? Was he pushing his way into the car more? Was that a tongue trying to pry its way into his mouth?

Carlton shoved Spencer back, ashamed and embarrassed by how long the kiss lasted. The psychic hit the neighboring car in his stumble backwards. The police detective covered his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to make sense of what occurred. **That did not just happen. That did not just happen. That could not have just happened. Why the fuck did that just happen?** Anger started to bubble up inside.

“What the hell was that Spencer?” Lassiter spat.

“Well, it would have been a wowing experience full passionate face sucking and heavy petting that would have lead to some serious bed ruffling and maybe just a little bit of competitive cuddling,” Shawn joked. “But I sense that Lassie isn’t quite ready for a night of AWESOME. Oh and by the way your cab is here.”

Lassiter looked around until he spotted the cab. Who called it? Juliet? Spencer? Did it matter? When he looked back Spencer was already a dozen parking spaces away getting on his motorcycle and slipping a helmet over his flushed face. **Flushed? Wait, did that mean…embarrassed? About what?** It never occurred to Carlton that perhaps all those jokes had a minutia of seriousness to them. That maybe they were well hidden clues to Spencer’s own desires. A whole new wave of annoyance washed over him.

“How the hell am I supposed to know when he’s joking and when he’s serious?” he exclaimed, kicking his tire.

He thought to run after him but Spencer had already peeled out of the lot, driving by the space where Carlton’s car resided. Passing by Carlton. He closed the door to the car with more strength than necessary, perturbed with himself as well as Spencer. He approached the taxi and sat in the small seats, giving the driver his address.

Lassiter tried to think from the psychic’s perspective. **But how do you think like a child?** He sighed and tried anyway. **Make jokes at someone else’s expense. They get mad. They confront you. You kiss them? They are still mad. And you leave embarrassed? Why? Because one person rejected you?**

“Ah crap,” Lassiter concluded at rejection. “I guess he is human, after all.”

After he arrived at his home Lassiter removed his suit and changed into a long pair of pajama bottoms printed with police badges. He then took a seat on the couch and turned on the plasma. News. He debated at drinking more to forget the whole affair. To forget that slight scruff on his chin and the needy fingers squeezing his leg. To wipe away the hurt look after shoving him away and the shameful face hiding under a motorcycle helmet.

“Damn it all,” Lassiter berated himself. “It wasn’t my fault. He started it!”

He was starting to sound like a child. Spoiled and obstinate. He prided himself on being a reasonable and mature adult. He was almost 40 for crying out loud. Not 12. He wondered if he should call his mother; she understood these kinds of situations all too well. Or perhaps Juliet… **No!** He grumbled to himself incoherently. He didn’t need help. He could do this on his own. And he wasn’t about to apologize to Spencer. That didn’t stop him from trying to find his phone.

It was gone. He realized it was probably in the restaurant, sitting on the table. Lassiter retrieved the house phone and called Mario’s. It was still relatively early, 9 o’clock, they would still be open. It rang a few times before someone answered.

“Mario’s. Would you like to make a reservation?” said a polite voice on the other line.

“No, I’m wondering if someone turned in a phone this evening,” he asked, explaining its dimensions.

There was a knock at the door. He shouldered the phone while waiting for her to check and opened the front door. Lo and behold there stood Shawn Spencer once again, Lassiter’s phone in his hand. The cop clicked off the phone.

“I was sensing that you might be missing this,” he told Carlton.

“Cut the crap,” Lassiter snapped and took the phone. It didn’t look like it’d been tampered with.

“The spirit world is also telling me,” Shawn started as the door was closing and he put his foot in the door. “That I have wronged you and should provide you with an apology.”

“Is that so?” Lassiter said sarcastically. “Stuff your apology. I don’t need it.”

“Ah, but you want it,” he replied back.

“No, I really don’t.”

“Yes, you really do,” he countered, while pointing to himself. “I am psychic after all.”

If he closed the door hard enough on Spencer’s foot, would it hurt bad enough to make him move it? He remembered kicking him earlier; was this the same foot? The one rubbing provocatively at his leg? Shawn Spencer gave him a look that said he came in peace but Lassiter had never really trusted that face. It lied far too often. Regardless of whether or not the apology was real he didn’t need his neighbors talking about his visitor.

“Come inside before you attract attention,” Lassiter relented, opening the door for him.

Shawn entered the house and the door was closed behind him. Lassiter leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for the apology. Shawn was looking around, almost admiring the décor, taking his sweet time before speaking.

“Wow Lassie, this place has seen some upgrades since the last time I was here. You know when I was kidnapped by Drimmer to frame you for murder and being my secret lover. And then you shot him with a gun you had hidden there. Ah good times. Good times,” Shawn reminisced.

“Get to the point Spencer. My patience is at its end,” Lassiter crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Shawn.

Shawn stepped around the room taking in the new additions. Making comments on what was interesting and what would have been better left at the yard sale Lassiter inevitably got it from.

“Spencer,” Lassiter started to growl.

“Lassie! I’m getting to it,” he scratched the back of his head. “It’s not like this is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, like changing the transmission on my bike. Heartfelt apologies are much harder than less-than-sincere ones.”

A sincere apology from Spencer; this might be a first in history. Carlton regained a small amount of tolerance for the ramblings. Shawn put a sofa between the two men, creating a shield or a buffer, for them.

“I’m…really very sorry that I jumped to conclusions with you,” Shawn started. “All of my psychic rumblings were telling me that…you might be in my court. A conclusion that was obviously wrong and hurt you when I took action. For that I apologize, Detective Carlton Lassiter.”

Carlton blinked with mild confusion. “Wait, what?”

“I didn’t mean to assume you were gay and now things are going to get awkward around the water cooler. Gus will certainly be able to tell something weird’s going on but Juliet is fairly oblivious to everything. I wonder if the chief will notice. Just wanted you to know that I will NOT be attacking you again. You won’t be telling people I jumped your bones will you?”

“Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight,” Carlton furrowed his brow and stopped leaning on the counter. Shawn continued to wander about the room touching things and looking intently at pictures, trying not to look too concerned or bothered by the conversation. “You thought I was gay and kissed me. Then when I got pissed you figured I was not. And now you’re saying sorry because you think I’m angry about being emasculated?”

Shawn nodded as if that were the stupidest question he ever asked.

Lassiter began laughing at the psychic’s stupidity. Perhaps he was not as all powerful as he would like the police department to believe. Shawn looked confused, a look he wore more often than not.

“I’m pissed because you forced yourself on me when I said to back off,” Carlton told him.

“I’m a forceful personality,” Shawn admitted.

“And it felt like you were just toying with me; making fun again. No one appreciates that,” Lassiter pointed.

“So…you didn’t have a problem with what I did,” Shawn concluded. “Just how I did it…Interesting…”

“That’s not, I mean, I uh….” Lassiter fumbled his words. “I don’t approve of your antics. Now get out of my house.”

Shawn walked toward Lassiter and stopped a few feet from him. He raised his hand in his usual fashion for reading minds or sensing feelings or seeing the future or whatever nonsense. It was when he did things like this that Lassiter wondered what he knew. Psychic angle was bullshit, he was sure, but sometimes there was no other explanation for the things Spencer knew.

“The spirits are telling me that if I were to approach you, and you had the knowledge that it wasn’t a prank, you might reciprocate…Is that correct?” Shawn asked.

Carlton couldn’t answer; it would mean admitting to someone that he was far more open-minded than he appeared. And he’d never told anyone that. Anyone. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to say it out loud. It still seemed too taboo. **Dammit, I’m one of those. A self hating, in-the-closet, gay.**

It seemed like Shawn Spencer was actually reading his mind, and that was eerie. Spencer approached the reluctant police detective; he didn’t move away. With a deft foot, Spencer slid a nearby foot stool in front of him and stepped up to eye level with Lassiter. He would have laughed if it were happening to someone else. But it was happening to the detective.

Spencer leaned in placing his hands on the counter; one on each side of his intended target. His body leaned forward, the cotton button up slowly scraping Lassiter’s bare chest, sending goosebumps up his spine. **What am I doing? Am I letting this happen?** Spencer was certainly going slowly enough that Lassiter could object at anytime, not like in the parking lot.

Lassiter’s breathing shallowed but his heart rate increased, as if they were in a shootout. This was in some ways more nerve-wracking than an enemy pursuit. Shawn could be sucking the air right out of his mouth by this point and it felt like that. He couldn’t breathe. He had to wonder what his face looked like. Scared. Nervous. Excited. Amorous?

Shawn waited, his lips barely touching Lassiter’s own. What was he waiting for? Shawn’s eyes insinuated the answer. He was waiting for Lassiter to initiate. **Damn it all.** He wasn’t sure if he could do it.

“I…” Lassiter started and closed his eyes. “Just do it.”

Shawn leaned in and encapsulated the detective’s lips. This time was just as forceful as before but at least he wasn’t taken by surprise. Shawn leaned his body in more against Carlton’s, pressing his hips against him. Shawn’s hands moved from their resting place on the counter and perched themselves on Lassiter’s shoulder and neck, massaging gently. It helped Carlton relax a little; he even opened his mouth more to let Shawn’s wandering tongue in.

One hand left his shoulder and began its journey down. A journey Lassiter failed to notice until he felt the elastic on his pants move tentatively. He panicked and broke the kiss, separating his body from Spencer’s curious hands, putting his hands on the couch.

“Sorry,” Lassiter tried to apologize, leaning over the back of his sofa. “I’m not sure…I don’t think…Not ready for…”

“It’s fine, really,” Shawn admitted. “I’m amazed you let me do anything at all.”

“This is a terrible idea…” Lassiter tried to rationalize.

“You’re too tense,” Shawn explained. “The spirits think you might need a massage, a pedicure, and a mud mask complete with cucumbers.”

Lassiter sighed deeply, trying to calm himself. Sometimes Spencer’s ramblings made sense, in a roundabout way. He needed to relax, it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. It wasn’t like the 80s and everyone would ridicule them for it. It was more acceptable now a days than it’s ever been.

“I was a licensed masseuse for 3 weeks on a Caribbean cruise for Russian supermodels learning English,” Spencer told him while looking through his fridge. “Hey, you have cucumbers so we’re a quarter of the way there. Do you have mud in your backyard?”

“I don’t need any of those things. Can’t you ever be serious?” Lassiter asked.

“Not when the situation doesn’t require it,” Shawn laughed and closed the fridge door.

“Then what does this situation require?” Lassiter wanted to glare.

Shawn’s hands were on Lassiter’s back rubbing in circles over the taunt muscles. Squeezing and releasing the tense muscles felt good but he wondered what Spencer was playing at. It would likely turn sexual any second now with him at the wheel.

“If you lay down, I could do better,” whispered in his ear. “I could help you relax and enjoy it.”

“This is just fine,” Lassiter admitted.

“Or you could stay bent over this couch. It makes giving you a hand job easier,” Shawn said softly.

Lassiter swallowed in his nervousness. Did he mean that? Or was that another joke? He could never tell. The massaging hands were snaking their way around his back and one began to delve into Lassiter’s pants. It was what he just objected to a moment before.

“Just relax, Lassie,” Shawn requested. “I promise not to do anything you wouldn’t do.”

“Spencer,” Lassiter started to object but Shawn had a firm grip on his excited manhood and pulled it from the confines of his pants.

“Quiet, detective,” Shawn said a little more firmly. “The only sounds you need to make are unintelligible ones.”

Shawn began to stroke Carlton’s dick leisurely, pumping in slow rhythms. The psychic slowly lowered the pajama pants down so that he could see Lassiter’s ass. Firm muscles everywhere, even his rear. He pressed his hips against Carlton’s ass; the recipient could feel a hard swelling behind the psychic’s jeans.

“Don’t worry detective,” Shawn reassured him, sensing his hesitation. “Just wanted to imagine the view if I were screwing you.”

Spencer switched hands but only after slicking it with saliva. The absence of lube had him improvising. The feel of his slippery wet hand escalated the arousing feeling. If he had objections, he was well past them now. He stifled a few groans but otherwise he was panting lightly at Shawn’s hands squeezing over the shaft and head of his swollen dick.

The psychic’s hand gave Lassie’s cheek a squeeze, eliciting a slight protest. He pinched again only to get the same response but louder.

“It could be worse Lassie,” Shawn mused but then leaned in close with a low mumble. “I could be inside you, filling your ass while giving you the reach around. Making you moan and scream until I filled you to the brim with my seed and you explode getting your sticky come all over my hands.”

Who knew Spencer had such a filthy mouth. And that it would be so stimulating mentally. He could hardly imagine doing something like that with anyone, let alone the fraud psychic. But now it was like trying to unsee something. He could feel a rising in his gut.

“Spencer,” he tried to warn him.

“I’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk straight,” Spencer encouraged his orgasm with more dirty talk.

Lassiter came; on the couch, on Spencer’s hands, and the floor. It was not calm or quiet, like when he took care of business himself. Perhaps it was because someone else did it, that it was so explosive; a volcano erupting on the unsuspecting village.

“Oh man, Lassie, I hope that doesn’t stain your couch,” he joked.

“If it does, you’re paying for a new one or professional cleaning,” Lassiter breathed.

“Aw, is that all I get after servicing you? Pay for my sofa?” Shawn feigned injury. “You wound me, Lassie.”

“I’m about to. Doing that to me without permission,” he growled, pulling up his pants.

“You didn’t ask me to stop and that’s not even the best thing I can do…” Shawn insinuated. “I’ve had over 57 jobs, detective Lassiter. That’s an awful lot of experience for one person to have.”

Lassiter privately wondered if whore was among those jobs at any point but he shook the thought. If this _relationship_ were going to continue some rules would have to be set. He couldn’t have Shawn showing up at the precinct shooting off his mouth about them. Like he said before; he wasn’t ready for it.

“About this…us…doing things,” Lassiter stated. “Keep it to yourself.”

“Please, detective. You wound me yet again!” he exaggerated his pain. “While I am great at keeping secrets; I am the eternal prankster, kind of like the Greek god Loki except I’ve never been done in the butt by a horse. Even if I told; who would ever believe me?”

That was the closest answer he would ever get to a promise. And he was right of course. Who would believe Shawn Spencer if he said Detective Carlton Lassiter was getting it from the town psychic? They would be rolling in the streets with laughter.

He hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this One Shot (Until Further Notice)!
> 
> Please, if you noticed any terrible spelling errors, unreadable grammar, or just blatant incorrect word usage, tell me and I will do my best to fix those problems.
> 
> I appreciate constructive criticism and encouraging words. If you have interesting thoughts or notions on where a story should head please tell me. I love hearing other peoples ideas.


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